


Leave Out All The Rest

by captaincaitay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, F/M, Hogwarts, New Orleans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincaitay/pseuds/captaincaitay
Summary: in the summer of 1994, four years after the death of their father, a teenage witch is pulled from their roots in new orleans and moved back to their mother’s home in westminster. out of place and being pulled in two different directions, the teen is faced with a new life at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. people fear what they don’t know, a lesson their father tried to shield them from their whole life, but maybe friends will make it easier.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Reader, Cho Chang/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Reader, Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Reader, Harry Potter/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	1. The French Quarter

**Author's Note:**

> efngojkf;enb; a harry potter fic i never saw myself falling back down this hole but here we are. don’t want to label this a certain pairing and ruin the story so y’all gotta bear with me :) also this takes inspiration from tvd/to in terms of the magic showcased, and the history of new orleans. as an la resident it’s always been fascinating and i’ve always wanted to incorporate that in some way. the only oc characters are the mother/father names. also title is inspired by leave out all the rest by linkin park.
> 
> hope you enjoy! please feel free to leave feedback :)

The streets are lined with lights, fluorescent and bright to indicate the exciting environment. The jazz that radiated from the four person band making their way down the street carried up into the businesses and homes that resided in the French Quarter. The sunshine from the outside world that warmed the bodies underneath didn’t make it into the apartment off of Chartres St. Inside the red bricked building and in apartment 2D in 1990, the ever growing shouts from one adult to another could be heard from even down in the streets.

It was like any other day in the observant eleven year olds life. Focused on packing things into the expensive trunk her mother had bought for her, she did her best to tune out the shouting. She ran her fingers over the blue and cranberry robes, lost in thought of what this new school would be like when she heard the sound of a slammed door followed by footsteps. She knew who it would be, and closed the trunk and latched it before they could even get the door open.

“Are you all packed?” They had asked in a calm and comforting tone.

She nodded her head, pushing the trunk out of the way before standing to scratch the head of the black and tawny screech owl resting near the window. It lowered its head further into itself in satisfaction, when a hand grazed her shoulder. The child stopped, eyes looking up to look out into the street, and subsequently to see her mother disappear just around the corner into oblivion.

“She just needs some time to cool down,” her father told her. His daughter nodded, but he knew it was just an automatic response. He guided her to the ledged seat and she sat next to him while he grabbed her smaller hand in his.

“She doesn’t want me to go,” his daughter said matter of factly. He inhaled a bit, and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Your mother thinks you should go to the school she went to when she was your age,” he carefully explained. She gave him a nod, though there was a second of hesitation before she spoke again.

“But they aren’t like me. They’re like mom.”

There it was, the acknowledgment that you knew more than he ever wanted you to know. Vincent Dupuis had done everything he could to protect his daughter from the fact that her mother didn’t know what to do with her besides send her off to that school in Scotland in the hopes she’d return as only half of herself. It wasn’t an malicious intent, not at all, but it was an attempt to take a part of you ( _his_ part of you) away. That seemed to be the root of all their fights as of late, but he didn’t want you to know that. Vincent reached over and pulled his daughter into his lap and rubbed his thumb over her cheek.

“Ilvermorny will be able to teach you not only what your mother knows, but what I know too. _Safely_ ,” he emphasized. “You’ll be the brightest witch this city has seen. I know it.”

She smiled at that, and he kissed her forehead. It was the last tender moment they’d share, though she didn’t know that before heading off to the boarding school in Massachusetts. It was the last memory she had of her father before his death a few months later.

Vincent Dupuis was celebrated in a traditional New Orleans style. Though his family and his coven mourned him, the city celebrated his life (though the strangers lining the streets didn’t really know him). That was just how it was, and your mother said he would have appreciated that.

Vincent Dupuis was a part of a deeply rooted witch lineage in New Orleans, which now was a part of you. One of the original founding families of the witch covens in New Orleans to be exact. He often would remind you (and _especially_ your mother) of that fact. You were a respected witch family, even if you were seen as different. Because of your mother.

Vincent was born and raised in the heart of the French Quarter. His parents still lived in the same house that smelled like cookies (your grandma would always have them ready when you’d stay the night when your parents would fight). It was a second home, and it was adorned with pictures of his family, and then yours. They moved and smiled, they held life in them. It was your favorite thing to see, though your grandparents didn’t see what you saw. They only saw the still motion. You wondered why that was, but eventually that thought trickled away when you found out why.

Althea Talpin (she opted to keep her maiden name) was a part of one of the most important bloodlines in the witch world. It was never tainted with muggle blood your maternal grandparents boasted about throughout your childhood. But when it came to her daughter, to you, they were colder than grandparents should be.

Althea was born and raised in Westminster. She was raised with the finest things, and was amongst one of the wealthiest families at this time. When she came of age, Althea was sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and continued her family's legacy by being sorted into the Slytherin house. Over the next seven years she excelled in everything from potions, charms, to defense against the dark arts. She wanted a change after her final year, and took to traveling the world.

She eventually travelled to The Big Easy, drawn to the French Quarter because of the festivities and thrill of it all. She had always been a thrill seeker, and she found that in a man named Vincent. They fell in love and within the year were married, and when you came around shortly after was when Vincent opened up about his own life and lineage.

Althea was fine with it, she hoped her daughter would be free of _that_ kind of magic, and she could convince Vincent to move the family back to her home. After eight years away, she missed everything so dearly. But he always refused, he was afraid of what people would say or even do to their child. The witches knew about the murders, knew the name which shouldn’t be spoken, and he was fearful of what would become of his only child. That was when the resentment started, almost immediately after she had found her daughter bringing dead flowers back to life with the touch of her hand.

Four years have passed since that day, those final moments between father and daughter. The summer of 1994 was soon coming to an end, though the fifteen year old didn’t want it to. With summer ending there was an ever looming cloud of uncertainty over her head, especially with her mother's eccentric ideas for the weekend, and future.

Westminster was nothing like the French Quarter. It was gloomy and busy with people who dressed like they were on their way to business meetings. Looking out of the average townhouse (on the outside, of course the inside felt like it had grown two sizes) it was dreadful. Your mother shouted from downstairs, and with a final sigh you scratched your owls head.

“We’ll be back soon, Arro,” you told the black and tawny feathered bird. “Don’t bother the house elves too much.”

Arro chirped at you, and you stood and grabbed the jacket off your bed. You bounced down the stairs and moved around the cleaning house elves. It was still odd to you to have these creatures in your house. You had always done the chores around the apartment in New Orleans, but your mother said you didn’t have to do that now. It didn’t sit right in your chest, but your mother was hard headed.

You missed your dad.

Your mother was transfixed on her hands, elegant and long, she barely looked up at you as you shoved your arms through your flannel. She was dressed like what you would think witches dressed like. Black jumpsuit that was sitting just below her shoulders, but also joined with a hood less black cape that just passed her elbows. Like you said, elegant and long, and daring as usual. She was like a new woman, back in her own world. Whereas you were more simple, you could even say more dressed to the times.

You had opted for a black overall and white shirt under it, basic shoes, and a loose flannel jacket. If you were honest you had seen a character from _Friends_ wear it and you loved the look. You felt comfortable, but that faded the minute your mother looked you over.

“Did you not like the outfit I had picked?” She asked. 

Right. The black stockings, black dress that looked too stuffy and had a weird collar that looked like you were a doll. No thanks. You could only offer a shrug and could see her eyes roll.

“This is more me.”

Partially true. You were at an age you didn’t know who you were really. Two halves of two different worlds ate away inside of you, but that was a topic for another day. She huffed in defeat and messed with the cape on her one more time. “Well that’s fine. Our stuff is already there, and as it is we’re late.”

She offered her hand to you, and you grimaced. “Oh no, please not this again.”

“It’s the fastest form of travel! You’ll need to get used to it.”

“It makes me feel sick,” you mumbled. She wiggled her fingers at you and you sighed. Taking her hand in yours, she led the way. You walked side by side down the hall on the first floor, and in a second were in a new location. Apparating still left your stomach in a twist, it may be effective but certainly not your favorite form of travel.

Night was falling quickly, and at the same pace as inside the house, you walked side by side, hand in hand, amongst others. The same air snapping sound rippled around you as others Apparated and approached the stadium.

The Quidditch World Cup was something your mother had been looking forward to for weeks. After receiving a personal invitation from the Minister of Magic, she insisted they both attend. With each flight of stairs upwards her stomach flipped more and more than when they Apparated. The large crowd trying to reach their respective seats was hard to navigate through, you even knocked into a boy around your age, but could barely mumble an apology as your mother kept pulling you in different directions.

Finally, the loud yells were hushed when a curtain was peeled back and they entered their destination. The private booth was full of others dressed almost like your mother. Eccentric. She detached her hand from yours as she approached a man, and you followed behind like a lost puppy. You were uncomfortable in this unknown place, with these unknown faces, and messed with the sleeves of your flannel. Your mother seemed to smile hugely, which was a rare occurrence to see, when the shorter and stout man met her eye.

“Althea,” he breathed. She laughed as he engulfed her hand with his large ones. “My it’s been so long.”

“It has Cornelius,” your mother replied. “You don’t look any different.”

He laughed and tapped her hand still in his. “Either you’re lying or you’ve been gone too long.”

“Too long,” she confirmed with a smile. The man called Cornelius looked behind him and called another unfamiliar name and a woman came over. After more laughs and smiles and embraces, your mother wandered over to what appeared to be a father and son duo. “I see you’ve grown your hair out Lucius.”

The taller man turned around, and without even a flicker down to you, his cold face erupted in it’s own smile. It felt uncomfortable to see, like it wasn’t genuine, but either way your mother embraced him

“Is this Draco?” She asked after a few moments. The man placed his ringed hand on his son's shoulder and looked to give it a good squeeze. Your eyes met the look of the young boy, while his father spoke.

“The one and only,” Lucius answered. That’s when his eyes looked down on you, and settled into something you couldn’t quite place. “And who is this?”

Ouch. So she knew of his son but he didn’t know of her daughter? You felt a pang of insult form at the back of your mind, but your mother stepped behind you and gripped onto your shoulders. It was as if she was offering reassurance. “This is my daughter. (Y/N).”

Lucius let out a humph, not disassociated but not satisfied either. His cold eyes went back to your mother and with instruction told his son, Draco, to not be rude as the parents stole one another away. You awkwardly stood before Draco, who overlooked you in some kind of judgement.

“My father never mentioned your mother had a daughter,” he finally said to break the silence. All you could do was shrug.

“My mother never mentioned either of you existed,” you said back. Draco’s brow lifted a bit, intrigued it seemed.

“You’re American,” he said. 

“Guilty as charged,” you replied. Draco grinned a bit, before glancing around the room. His eyes hesitated for a moment, and you looked over to where his gaze paused. Another boy, older with dirty blonde hair and a nice smile, stood beside a man. Draco seemed to turn you away quickly and out towards the Quidditch field.

“So you’ll be coming to Hogwarts then?” He asked. Your hands reached out to hold onto the railing as you reached your body past to get a good look around.

“Against my own free will,” you joked. Draco huffed, laced behind another grin. “You’ll be the first person I know.”

Draco saw his opportunity, his eyes catching the far away look of the bunch he had just seen while travelling up here. His hands clutched the railing as well and motioned with his head across the field. “More than happy to give you the inside scoop, from one Slytherin to another.”

Hm, made sense. Your mother had explained her house background, and he seemed to fit the description to a T. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but Draco pulled something from the side. It was like a magnifier, and he positioned it before you both, on a group of people. You glanced his way in confusion, but he began to explain his antics.

“See those red headed freaks? _Those_ are the Weasleys. They’re pureblood like our families, but the father is fascinated with muggles. Their mother makes their clothes, and they share hand-me-downs. The twins are in Fifth year, the other one Ron is in our year, and the girl is below us. Awful family.

“Then next to them is Harry Potter,” Draco spat his name out. You raised a brow at the recognition of the name. You had heard of the Potters, though it was only small information. “He thinks he’s the bloody center of the world. Can’t believe _he’s_ the Chosen One.

“That girl with the bushy hair is Hermione Granger,” he scoffed. “Thinks she’s so witty, but she’s nothing more than a _mudblood_.”

Can blood freeze? You shifted your weight a bit when the warm air seemed to hit you straight on. The Minister announced the start of the match (maybe, you weren’t too sure) but you looked over at the platinum blonde and inhaled a bit too sharply.

“Mudblood?” You repeated. Draco glanced your way before looking back to the field.

“Right, you probably don’t know the term. She’s of non-witch blood, bloody pathetic, not even _half_ witch. Don’t know how she got into this school. It’s gone down the drain if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” you stated. Draco looked over at you as if he wanted to rebut your statement, but a hand dropped down on your shoulder. You looked behind you and sighed a bit, the tension leaving your body though your fist were still tight in a ball you didn’t realize had formed. Draco’s expression fell, and your mother gave you a squeeze.

“You two doing alright?”

“Peachy,” you mumbled. Her thumb rubbed the back of your shoulder, before turning you to face her, and small tsk’s leaving her lips.

“Sweetie why don’t you go back down and get some fresh air?” She offered. You glanced back over to Draco, who looked uncomfortable in this moment, and nodded a bit. It was too pretentious in here anyway.

All the way back down, bumping past bodies you wouldn’t remember as more time passed, you felt the frustration reaching a boil. Finally as you pushed past the final set of bodies you breathed in the empty air.

You weren’t dumb, you liked to believe you were far from it. In ways your parents had tried to warn you about how people could be once they learned of your true lineage. You knew people could be cruel, that’s why being here, being brought to the world your mother had lived in, was so.. Wrong. You could only imagine the possibility it could get worse, the names they would call you.

No one deserved that.

Your frustration toppled over in a gust of wind that blew pieces of trash away from where you stood, blew the flaps on surroundings tents, but the release felt better than holding it in. In deep breathes you attempted to calm your mind, uncurling your fists and easing yourself into some foldable seats left out. You were sure the owners wouldn’t mind.

There were chants and hollers coming from the stadium, but they sounded far away. Your mind was drifting back to the thought of home, where you should be right now, and didn’t hear the crunch of grass as someone approached. “Mind if I join you?”

You averted your attention to the voice, met with the welcoming look of the other boy inside that _pristine_ booth. You glanced at the chair beside you and nodded. “Sure.”

He smiled a bit, the one you recounted as being nice, and took the seat next to you. Your knees touched ever so slightly, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his legs, glancing up at the twirling lights in the sky. There was an awkward silence, one you didn’t know how to break or if you even should. Thankfully, he seemed to know how. “I couldn’t help but overhear what Draco was saying.”

You looked over at him, but his gaze still lingered up in the sky. It was an invitation to talk about it, and you couldn’t help but accept it. You rubbed your hands together and stole a glance at the ground. “I just can’t believe he uses a term like that so vilely.”

“Unfortunately there’s been a lot of prejudice circulating around recently,” he trailed off. You looked up to meet his gaze, and he offered a smile. “But don’t let Malfoy get to you.”

You wanted to scoff, but your throat couldn’t produce the sound. Instead you simply nodded, only to catch the slight lean in from your company. “Are you coming to Hogwarts this year?”

“It.. Looks that way yeah,” you answered sheepishly. He smiled even wider and offered his hand out to you.

“I’m Cedric,” he introduced. You hesitated only for a moment before taking his hand in yours.

“(Y/N),” you replied with a shake of your hand. His hand was warm, and nearly engulfed your own. The moment only lasted for a few seconds before shouting from the match drew both your attention, and your hands from one another. The slight gust of wind brought a fresh scent that would stick in your mind for the rest of the night.

Worn leather, the fresh scent of laundry detergent, and a hint of butterscotch.


	2. The Secret Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so... are we liking this? No one has commented at all? Lowkey may just delete this if people don’t like it but I need some kind of feedback ya know?

The night was filled with shouts of celebration, along with the familiar jeers of drunken (but still playful) insults from Bulgarian fans to Irish ones. You never returned to that stuffy box, though Cedric eventually did. You didn’t think you could withstand the urge to land a hit right onto that platinum blonde’s face if he irked you any further. Instead, you ventured to find just where exactly you were supposed to be staying tonight. Lucky for you, the family crest that was strewn across your grandparents home was embroidered on the flaps of a tent.

It was supposed to be a quiet night, for the most part. New Orleans had made you nearly impervious to the chants in the night. You were in a chair in the main room, checking the watch on your wrist every few minutes as you read through a book in your things, waiting on your mothers to return. The game must have ended at least two hours ago, so where was she? Hopefully not drinking. Your mother was so _touchy_ when she drank, wanting to fiddle with your hair and getting upset when you told her to knock it off--

A scream caught your attention mid thought. You stood from your place in your tent and nearly tossed your book aside. It wasn’t one of the joyously drunk yells you had heard all night, no this one was laced with fear. Stepping over the pile of poufs your mother always insisted on buying, you flung open the flaps of your tent, and was met with immediate chaos.

The night sky was now laced with terrified screams and the growth of flames. The crackle and burst of flames on tents was growing closer to even your own, panicked you weren’t sure what to do. Witches and wizards were rushing past your tent in a frenzy, trying to get out of dangers way. But you were struck with fear - you had nowhere to go. You stepped into the crowd, forgetting the tent with your things, as your mind and feet raced on to where you were going to go.

The growing fire behind you and smoke loomed into the air, the crowds moving in every which way. Your eyes danced over the trees in the distance, that would be your safety. Once everything cleared all you’d have to do is find your mother and get the hell out of here. You tried to elbow your way through the crowd, trying to go the direction your stomach was telling you to go towards, but someone shoved you unexpectedly.

You weren’t sure where you landed, or how long had passed between the time you were shoved to when you managed to reopen your eyes. It wasn’t just a few seconds, that was for sure, because by the time you did start to push yourself up all your fingers felt was the ash that now fluttered down from the sky. The throbbing in your head told you it could’ve been minutes to hours, and you huffed to yourself as you managed to stand. It took a moment for the blurriness in your eyes to fade, but the realization of the scene around you didn’t exactly settle your mind.

 _Everything_ was burnt to ash. The tents that filled this large plot of land were all dust now, save for the few pieces of structures that survived. Though smoke blew through the wind, the moon shone down on the events of tonight and left a dreary cast on everything. You had to get out of here, and fast. Your first few steps gave away to your hurt your ankle, and limping through the field was harder as you tried to move over the destroyed remnants of the earlier day.

Before you a light flew into the night sky and made you come to a stop. You watched as it flew up, up, and up, until it finally exploded like a firework. But the image that now enveloped the sky was definitely not a firework. The green image that played in the sky was terrifying, unknown to you, and made you move faster. There were trees in the distance, you could make it and get a message to your mother and be done with this awful night--

In your panic you tripped over something sturdy, and large. You fell to the ground in one fell swoop and felt the wind get knocked out of you. You groaned, face first in the ash and dirt and heard what sounded like someone moving behind you. You slowly pushed yourself up on your hands and knees, looking backwards at whatever, or whoever, you fell over. A part of you recognized him, maybe from earlier in the stands? You winced as you shuffled up to your feet, and looked down at him fully now. “What are you doing down there?”

“I.. I was knocked down earlier,” was all he explained, too transfixed on the image in the sky. His hand went up to his forehead, and you watched as he touched a marking on his skin.

Harry Potter.

You offered your hand for him to stand, and he took it with no hesitation. His eyes looked past you though, and it looked like all the color left his skin. You turned to face what he was so focused on, and could make out the outline of a man. And he was most definitely walking this way. You moved before him, the Boy Who Lived, and narrowed your eyes at the person moving closer. “Stay behind me.”

“What? We should just go!”

You weren’t about to turn your back on a full grown wizard, who probably projected that, and was eager to even approach the two of you. You inhaled deeply and used every ounce of your strength to focus on the figure in the distance, who was quickly drawing closer. You were suddenly grateful to your father for teaching you this if you ever got into trouble. 

The more you concentrated, the figure began to slow their pace, even until they stood completely still. As you narrowed your eyes further, you could see them flinch, the twitch of their head to the side all but indicating it was working. You were all but ready to end it here and now, but voices in the distance made you stop.

_“Harry! Where are you?”_

_“Harry!”_

The two voices, one male and one female, was enough to make not only you stop, but the figure turn away. Your eyes lost him amongst all the smoke, but the growing footsteps behind you was enough to finally put you at ease. When you finally saw the two other joining Harry’s side, you were immediately flooded with the memory of Draco’s description. The long red head must be Ron, and the other Hermione. You felt guilty knowing what Draco was calling them, but maybe this wasn’t the place or time.

“We’ve been looking for you for ages,” Ron explained as Hermione gripped onto her found friend. They all but didn’t notice you for the moment, and you peered up to the sky again. “We thought we lost you.”

“What is that?” You asked. The figure in the sky moved, the snake that was wrapped around the skull and moving from it’s jaw was almost captivating, in an _oh my god_ kind of way. The others finally noticed you, glancing at Harry who didn’t really know how to silently answer them. He didn’t know who you were. But suddenly, as the snake moved across the sky he felt a shock of pain from his scar. Harry gasped, gaining the attention of the other kids around him, but before anyone could ask him what was wrong, more people appeared around them.

 _“Stupefy!”_ They called together. The group of four kneeled to the ground to avoid the attack, burst of red meeting in one ball where they all stood. It wasn’t until another man came running towards them, calling for them to stop did the wizards hold their places.

“Stop! That’s my son!” He cried out, shoving past a couple of the men until the children could stand safely. He enveloped the other three, checking them over quickly as the other wizards moved in.

You weren’t ever going to let your mother live this down.

“Ron, Harry, Hermione, are you alright?” He asked. They nodded in response as one man came closer, wand pointed at the group and spoke quickly.

“Which of you conjured this?!” He asked frantically. He moved his wand between you, and the father who protected the others. The older man, probably Ron’s father, glanced at you and then back at the one questioning the group.

“You can’t possibly-”

“Do not lie!” He cut him off, narrowing his eyes at the group. “You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!”

“Crime?” Harry asked. He was confused, but he also felt like deep down he knew what had happened here tonight.

“Barty, they’re just kids,” the Weasley father tried to reason. Harry shuffled his feet a bit, glancing at his friends who looked terrified, and to the other girl who he still didn’t know what to call. Surely it wasn’t because she had used magic, she didn’t even have a wand on her.

“What crime?” Harry asked again. Hermione grabbed a hold of his arm, and he looked her way.

“Harry.. It’s _his_ mark.”

 _Oh_. That’s the only thing that came to mind. Even as the group was whisked away, you hadn’t even paid attention to where. But there you sat in a white tent, just outside the grounds of the burnt tents and tonight’s events, while one woman looked you over. You squinted against the light of her wand, winced at the touch of her fingers on your ankle, all too focused on what you had learned tonight. It had been the most eventful day you had, and you hadn’t even started school yet. You were so engrossed in your own thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the others filing into the tent.

Harry sat on a bed on the other side of the room. While your eyes were downcasted to the ground, he had found his glued to you. His mind raced with the thoughts of what would have happened if you hadn’t tripped over him tonight. Would he have ran? Would his friends have found him? Did you use magic that night? Who were you here with?.. And who were you? He couldn’t help but feel sorry that you were here all by yourself, though your exterior looked stoic and calm, your eyes told another story. Something was bothering you, like how the thought of Voldemort was bothering him. He hadn’t even noticed when the rest of the Weasley’s joined him, not until one of the twins started up.

“Man, Harry, you sure do know how to get yourself beat up every year,” George heckled him. Harry did his best to suppress a smile, until Fred joined in.

“I’d say he likes it, Georgie,” he joked. “Always has the girls harping on him.”

“Yeah Harry, who is that anyway?” George asked. The twins discreetly looked over their shoulder at the young witch behind them. Harry shrugged his shoulders, though he really wanted to know for himself as well.

“I’m not sure,” Harry answered.

“Well don’t be an arse Harry, twisted her ankle falling over you didn’t she?” Fred nudged him.

“What?-”

“Go and apologize! Be a gentleman, Harry,” George nudged him back towards Fred. Harry grumbled and shoved them both off of him.

“Shove off,” he mumbled to them. Harry could hear the twins snicker as he walked away, closer and closer to you. The woman who was overlooking you stepped away for a moment, and Harry stood before you awkwardly. You could see his dirty shoes before you, and looked up to meet his gaze, and Harry didn’t know if it was just his face that felt hot, or if he truly was blushing. He could feel the dryness in his mouth as he began to speak. “I, um, I’m sorry if you hurt your ankle because of me.”

You blinked up at him before looking at his unhinged appearance. You couldn’t help but smile a bit and motioned to his shirt. “Sorry I got my foot print on your shirt.”

Harry was enamoured by your voice. He had never heard something so.. Silky. It was the only word he could come up with at that moment. He hadn’t even noticed the marking on his shirt, but he nodded quickly and swallowed the lump that seemed to have formed at the back of his throat. “Oh, don’t worry about that.. I’m.. Harry, by the way.”

“(Y/N),” you offered back. Harry smiled a bit to himself and repeated the name in his mind. God he really hoped the twins weren’t watching him. “And really don’t worry about it. I think I hurt it when someone shoved me to the ground earlier.”

Harry nodded a bit, but before he could ask you anything further, a hand came down on his shoulder. Mr. Weasley had told him it was time to go, and glanced at you and offered a smile. He left Harry after that, and he motioned his hand out to you. “Will you be alright..?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, and smiled. Harry, dumbfounded, nodded a bit too much and took a step backwards. Stupidly, he didn’t offer a _see you later_ or anything as he walked out the tent. He hadn’t even noticed the woman entering, the only thought on his mind the rest of the night as you.

When your mother entered the tent, you felt relieved but also irritated. She rushed over to you and engulfed your face in her hands, looking you over with the most ferocious gaze. You rolled your eyes at her many questions.

“What happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt?-”

“Mom, please,” you begged of her. As she looked you over the witch from before spoke to your distraught mother, telling her everything that was wrong with you. Concussion, sprained ankle, where every bruise was, and so on and so forth. The only thing worth not mentioning was the fact you used magic tonight. You’d tell her some other time. Or maybe just never.

All you wanted was to go home.

* * *

In a way you were granted your wish. There were only a few weeks left until school started, but your ever growing fear of it had not diminished at all. As you laid in your room, eyes closed and soft jazz playing on the turntable, your mind was free to walk the imaginary streets of New Orleans. You weren’t concerned about the fact that in minutes time, the Headmaster of your new school would be here in this house, along with two professors from what your mother was saying. You also weren’t concerned with the fact that you really didn’t know what to expect this year, all you were concerned with at this point and time was the lingering between one track to another, and the people you moved around in your head. You could do this for hours. Days even.

But of course a knock sounded on your door frame, and you grumbled to yourself. “Go away.”

“They're nearly here, (Y/N), please just cooperate for one hour,” your mother begged of you. Your eyes opened to the sight of your ceiling and you pushed yourself up on your bed to your hands, peering at your mother with innocence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you teased. She rolled her eyes and started to disappear back down the stairs. “I’m an angel!”

All you could see was the wave of her hand as if she was shooing you away. Tossing your legs over the edge of your bed, you stood and slid your feet into the old sandals you often wore. Ignoring the pick of an outfit your mother had chosen for you, you chose to wear what’s called “mom” jeans and a shirt tucked into the front. Revolutionary, and also drove your mother crazy. Perfect in all senses.

Making your way down, you slowed your pace at the sight of three other adults with their back to you, talking to your mother. Suddenly your palms were sweaty which you couldn't help but wipe on the front of said mom jeans. Your mothers glance up at you made them turn to face you, and you did your best to muster up the bravest smile you could. You mother moved around the group as you made your way down the last few steps, and moved to grip onto your shoulders.

“(Y/N), these are a couple of Professors from Hogwarts, here to do your sorting,” she explained. You mother motioned to the woman, who was tall and elegant, and seemed to have a gleam in her eyes that screamed she had all the answers. “This is Professor Minerva McGonagall. Not only is she the most brilliant Transfiguration teacher, but she is also head of the Gryffindor House.”

She offered a nod of her head with a small smile, one you returned. Your mother's attention then moved to a man dressed in black robes and shoulder length hair, and an emptiness in his eyes that you couldn’t place. She seemed to squeeze your shoulders a little tighter as his eyes seemed to stare you down. “And this is Professor Severus Snape. The only man I know who can brew a potion perfectly, and head of the Slytherin House.”

He didn’t offer any kind of greeting, or just.. _Anything_ in general. Not even at the praise of your mother, like he didn’t need it at all. You would’ve expected something, given they must have gone to Hogwarts around the same time. But it didn’t stop your mother from moving on to the third and final man in the room, who had such a presence you couldn’t quite explain. But as he smiled at you, it was like the nervousness evaporated from you. “And this is Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts. One of the most brilliant men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Dumbledore took a step forward, with his hands outstretched, and your mother was quick to release her vice-like grip on you and allow him to grab ahold of her hands. “Althea you’re too kind. When I received your letter I couldn’t wait to have your daughter join us this year.”

At the mention of yourself, he turned to face you and you swallowed the lump in your throat. He released your mother's hand and offered you one of his, which you didn’t seem to hesitate in taking. His grip was firm but it wasn’t overwhelming, and after he seemed to almost get a read of you, he released your hand and turned to McGonagall. “Minerva I believe we’re ready to do the sorting.”

“Please,” your mother offered for the group to enter the room off the entry. It was elegant and well put together, given the fact your mother wanted it perfect for this moment. You sat down on the chair that was nearly rock hard chair and couldn’t help but wipe your hands down your thighs once again. There was some conversation between the adults, but you couldn’t focus for the moment. Your mind was too engulfed in one thought, and that was what the outcome was going to be.

McGonagall held something in her hand that appeared to be (in all honesty) a well-worn brown hat. The room fell quiet, your mother standing behind and beside Snape, with her hands clasped together and under her chin. McGonagall came closer with Dumbledore, until they stood before you. Dumbledore, who seemed to read you better than anyone in the room, gave your shoulder a squeeze in reassurance, before falling back, leaving only McGonagall by your side. You could see her lift the hat up, before it sat perfectly on your head. There were a few seconds of silence before a voice radiated in the room.

“Oh? I haven’t felt a presence like this in a long time,” the hat spoke. Your eyes looked upwards at the rim of the hat, before looking to your mother. “Lots of courage I can see. Brave as well. But your desire almost outweighs that.. But where to put you? Someone so different.. Someone who will do great things..”

Your heart was begging for his response. You had to know if your path was already set in stone by your family-

“I know just the place.. Gryffindor.”

The look that fell over your mother was unlike any of the disappointed looks you’ve seen from her throughout your life. But one thing was for certain as the three professors left your new house. 

Your journey was just about to begin, and your mother was not pleased about it at all.


End file.
